


Rock My World

by russomaha



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: (or splicery - if you prefer - which is just a nicer term for the same ugly thing), Alcohol, Bodyguard, Dorks in Love, Dorks in love being oblivious, Drunk flirting, Ethics, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Power Imbalance, Romance, Scent Marking, Slavery, Werewolf tropes, Wow this has gotten really serious really fast, bodyguard!Caine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russomaha/pseuds/russomaha
Summary: Caine rocks Jupiter’s world.Twice.Not the way you’d think, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLadyRo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyRo/gifts), [iluvdanimal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvdanimal/gifts), [Joomju](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joomju/gifts).



> _TheLadyRo, have a happy March 8! (I’m going out on a limb here and assuming you’re of female persuasion; if you’re not, just never mind the date and enjoy the story.)_
> 
> _Iluvdanimal, we have this weird holiday in our country when all men run around with crazy eyes and tulips cost more than heroin. Congrats on being a girl!_
> 
> _Joomju, remember queenhandling? Here it is. The actual term will be used in Chapter 2._

Jupiter is inebriated.

The proper scientific term, of course, would be “shit-faced”, but not many people dare to apply such a strong epithet to Queen. Those who dare have the unfortunate tendency of not wearing their heads for any prolonged period of time.

As per usual, it is totally Kiza’s fault. _Totally_. Kiza has taken her friend out to unwind a little and gotten her _inebriated_. A lot. Of all the dangers Stinger as Head of the Royal Guard has been protecting his Queen from, Kiza is the most menacing one and the most resistant to her Dad’s efforts.

When Jupiter tries to stand up at the end of the evening – more like the beginning of the morning – so they could finally go home, she feels her legs drift away somewhere from under her, as if having their own opinion on where the queen is intending to go. Unable to negotiate with her lower extremities to achieve a mutually satisfactory consensus, she promptly plops her ass back down.

Kiza, despite being the root of evil, valiantly offers to give a helpful hand to Mighty Majesty, in the name of friendship. Although even the name of friendship can’t negate the fact that Kiza is barely standing on her own two feet. So the noble sentiment is defeated by trivial alcohol. That is a tragedy, right there.

Jupiter takes a moment to mourn, deep in contemplation and philosophical musings.

“Your Majesty?” comes a soft question, “Do you require some assistance?”

Oh, right, Caine is here, too. Atrociously sober, since he’s on his bodyguarding duty. Being dragged around while Kiza and his Queen entertain without being able to drink his way through the ordeal must suck. Poor soul.

“Your Majesty?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Your Majesty, I need your verbal permission to touch you.”

That gets Jupiter out of her philosophizing in an instant. She jerks her head up to look at Caine, hopeful.

“Thought you’d never ask. Go ahead, knock yourself out!” she enthuses, gesturing at her body invitingly. At his bewildered stare, she feels obliged to add, “I meant that figuratively.”

Knowing just how literal the lycantant’s perception can be, she’d better make herself abundantly clear on this point: she really does not want Caine to actually knock himself out. He’s still staring at her, as if awaiting further instructions. Why is he still staring at her? What is she supposed to be saying?  When will the touching part commence already? Because she’s kind of tired of waiting for him to grow an initiative. Squirming under his scrutiny, she attempts to expand on her initial clarification.

“You see, we don’t need your unconscious body on the floor. Which will inevitably happen if you do knock yourself out. It’s enough that Kiza and myself seem to have only one consciousness between the two of us,” she vaguely gestures in Kiza’s general direction as Caine’s expression turns even more flabbergasted. “By my rough estimate I have point five consciousness left in my body right now, and so does Kiza –”

“Hey! I take umbrage with that!” Kiza slurs, affronted. “I have at least point sixty three! I still remember what decimal fractions are!”

“I said “by rough estimate”, quit nitpicking. Be above the minutiae, Kiza.”

“I’m above everything right now,” the girl nods in agreement. “High as a kite, here.”

 “Anyway,” Jupiter ploughs through, “half a consciousness plus half a consciousness equals one point ou consciousness,” Jupiter can’t remember anymore what the point of her spiel was, but she’s inordinately proud of her arithmetic skills.

Clearly unimpressed (Why? _Why?!_ Jupiter _aces_ at mathematics tonight!), Caine heaves a long heartfelt sigh of martyrdom and she feels herself being picked up and cradled to his chest. Hmm, not exactly what she had in mind when he asked for the permission to touch her, but it will have to do. You know what they say, in an empty field, a beetle is meat.

If a beetle is meat, then what a lycantant would be? He seems meaty enough as he is…

“Kiza, can you walk on your own?” Jupiter hears Caine ask with concern, which graciously halts her brain’s attempts to apply a butcher’s chart to the lycantant’s anatomy. That was just very wrong, on so many levels.

The lycantant’s anatomy, however…

“Yep, I’m good,” comes Kiza’s reply. “If I sway too much, I’ll just side-hug you.”

Caine nods, and Jupiter feels deeply peeved at the idea of him being side-hugged by anybody who is not her (not that she would ever dare to hug him, whether side, or front, or all over – the last option highly preferable by all accounts). Then again, it’s Kiza, and Jupiter’s okay to share anything with Kiza, so it should be okay.

It is not, though.

Still, Kiza is her best friend, so she lets it go.

Juiter’s newfound cradle seems comfortable enough, warm and sturdy, but Caine’s armoured jacket is chafing against her cheek. She vaguely remembers that she can’t just ask him to take it off. Although the reason why such a wonderful idea can’t possibly be realized, escapes her.

“You know, your uniform is really uncomfortable,” she complains, “from the outside, I mean. Is it comfortable from the inside?”

Caine lets out another long-suffering sigh and nods.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Sometimes I envy it, you know.”

“You envy – my wearing a uniform?” He sounds confused.

“Nope, the uniform itself.”

“Why would you – ” Caine trails off, genuinely puzzled.

Kiza snorts.

“They way it hugs your – everything… It’s definitely enviable. Criminally so,” Jupiter lets out a long disgruntled huff, wondering whether a uniform can be brought to justice. Because clinging that tightly to that much awesome ought to be a felony.

A felony she wouldn’t mind committing.

“I bet Caine envies your dresses,” Kiza pipes up. “Or lingerie, more like.”

“Kiza! Don’t even joke like that!” The guard sounds appalled, furious blush spreading across his usually too-pale half-albino skin.

Poor thing. Being obliged to tag along wherever the queen goes without any chance to actually have fun, having to answer all of her stupid questions and endure Kiza’s innuendoes... Jupiter’s heart goes out to him, as her hand goes out to pet his hair, apparently by its own volition. What is it with her extremities tonight, first the legs, now her hand? Why are they being so self-willed and opinionated? Shouldn’t they obey her? She’s Queen, after all. Maybe they are staging a coup, or something.

She has to get the Internal Security to look into a possibility of an appendage riot.

Meanwhile Jupiter’s riotous finger (Aha! She knew! _She knew!_ ) runs along Caine’s jawline as she watches in fascination how the muscles in his neck tense at her light touch. Their interplay is mesmerizing.

“Have I told you that you have a beautiful profile?” she breathes, her fingers itching to trace his nose as well, but that would probably be too much of a distraction. She doesn’t want him to drop her, after all. And topple on top of her, either. Considering his size, there will be a lot of squashing involved. And broken bones, on her part. She still remembers that broken bones are bad, sadly. Why is she sober enough to remember that, when that profile _calls_ to her?

Caine side-eyes the queen without actually turning his head.

“Those terrsie beverages have aggrieving side effects,” he comments without much reproach. Much.

But Jupiter’s so far gone she is beyond reproach now. Well, beyond being touched by one, anyway. She’s feeling brave and brazen; she might yet dare to trace that gorgeous nose of his. She gets easily distracted, however, when her gaze falls upon his ear – that cute, pointy, _fuzzy_ ear, – and in the state she’s in, where her eyes land, her fingers follow. Being drunk apparently does not affect her eye-hand coordination. She feels mighty proud of that achievement, on par with her outstanding mathematician talents.

The ear’s outline is velutinous, it feels like the downy skin of a peach, ticklish against her knuckles, and the tip is overwhelmingly supple and fragile, like a butterfly wing. She revels in its softness, caressing it with the back of her fingers. Apparently, she has a profound ear fixation, strictly limited to Caine.

Jupiter is startled out of her reverie when Caine’s arms clench tighter around her, as his gait gets jerkier and more uneven, shaking her up, as if she’s riding a car along a bumpy country road.

“Hey, don’t jolt your Queen,” she reprimands, “I’m getting sea-sick here.”

His pace slowers, the grip on her body eases and the rocking motion seemingly dissipates – it’s as if she’s _flowing_ through the air now.

“That’s better,” she praises. “It’s not the way I want you to rock my world, you know.” Great, now her mouth is cheerfully running away from her. Damn those treacherous body parts!..

Caine makes a stifled sound and their progress halts for a moment, before resuming again in the same fluent, weightless manner.

She hears Kiza snickering somewhere – _beyond_. Beyond this comfortable, cozy, intimate bubble Jupiter has going on with Caine. The snicker is an unwelcome intruder, disrupting the harmony, the zen, the nirvana within their tiny secluded world.

“What’s so funny?” she inquires, annoyed at her friend’s untimely laughter.

“You’re a hilarious drunk.”

“Don’t talk to your Queen like that,” Caine admonishes with that solemn earnestness of his which makes Jupiter’s heart swell and burst with warmth.

“What, and let her keep molesting you?” Kiza chuckles, glancing at her big buddy. “Oh my gods, you are totally enjoying this!” At that, Kiza’s laughter turns into cackling, honest-to-gods _cackling_.

“I’m just doing my job,” Caine rumbles, turning a delicious hue of pomegranate. Mm-hmm, pomegranates… Jupiter briefly wonders if the garnet erubescence of his skin would taste equally delightful. She feels – _persephoneous_.

“Oh gods, you two are precious,” Kiza observes, bursting into another cackling fit.

With all that ruckus, Jupiter feels suddenly exhausted and buries her swimming head in Caine’s shoulder – his hard, hard shoulder – trying to burrow her nose into it, like she usually snuggles into her pillow. As if. That shoulder is certainly no pillow, as it remains stubbornly unpliant. She doesn’t give up that easily, though, and strives to nuzzle her way into comfort.

“Are you – are you _scent-marking_ me, Your Majesty?” comes an incredulous question.

“What do you mean, scent– eww!” Jupiter, aghast, smacks him on the chest, which is even more solid than his shoulder, so she only manages to hurt her hand in the process. “No! I mean… ” She’s really dug a hole for herself with that ‘eww’ there. Scent-marking is considered a normal, common practice among the lycantant splices. Unlike humans, they communicate in smells and body language rather than words. As a sovereign, Jupiter has to be more culturally flexible. Not that she minds being _flexible_ with Caine, either culturally or otherwise. Quickly, she needs to come up with something politically correct. “No offence to your lycantant sensibilities. It’s just… It seems unnecessary, you know? You’re mine as it is.” She barely registers the shudder that runs through her cradle of leather and flesh as she curses herself for the utter lack of diplomacy – _“You’re mine as it is”_ , gods! – and soldiers on with her explanation. “I was just trying to soften you up. Do you know how hard you are?” she asks, nursing her damaged hand at her chest.

Caine looks positively startled at that. “I think I would be aware if I was,” he counters slowly, sounding somewhat choked. “I am not allowed to do that in Your Majesty’s presence.”

There’s that annoying cackling again.

Jupiter blinks at him owlishly, sleepily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she announces haughtily, miffed by his cryptic words. “How can you contradict your Queen when she tells you that you are hard? And _I am telling you_ , you – are – hard!

“Is that –” he breaks off to swallow, visibly straining against the jumping muscles of his throat, “– is that _an order_ , Your Majesty?” His voice sounds uncertain and shaky, but there’s a definite undertone of _hope_ in it.

 _An order?_ Has she just inadvertently ordered something? With Caine, she never knows; he keeps perplexing her, taking her most innocuous comments for royal commands. And why is this sudden change in his demea–

“Oh, shut up, you two!” Kiza butts in. “Snooze off, Jupiter, before you manage to convince your Big Bad Guard here to commit gross misconduct at his place of duty.”

Giving up on her feeble attempt to make sense of what the hell is going on, as well as on her quest for comfort, Jupiter leans onto Caine’s unyielding shoulder and closes her eyes, lulled by the steady rocking motion of his gait, wondering idly just what his muscles are actually made of. She’d opt for granite. She really needs to look into lycantant anatomy tomorrow. You know, for the sake of science.

With that thought, she falls asleep.

She dreams of ocean waves, rolling upon a rocky shore, and solemn wolves.

In her dream, she’s happy.

 

 

_Are you wondering whyshe can’t just ask him to take it off? Well, that’s been known to happen and left her scarred. See [Constellations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13279011) for that._

_If you'd like to enjoy Caine’sbeautiful profile some more, check out [The Crown Jewel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664595)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part 2 is coming up shortly (like, in a week or two, it depends on whether the characters cooperate or not). It’s called “The Morning After”._  
> 
>  _Dun-dun-duuun._  
> 
> _The idea for this story was inspired by the glorious drunk Chicanery Night from[Rock the Cradle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604479/chapters/7952598) by [ItsClydeBitches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches), one of my most favourite fanfics ever._


	2. The Morning After

The moment Jupiter emerges to wakefulness, she _knows_ she should have died last night so that she wouldn’t have to live through this morning. Her innards feel like they’re about to spill out, her mouth seems as if a herd of cats used it for their litter box overnight, her head is pounding and heavy. When the queen blearily unglues her eyes open, the abhorrently bright sunlight pierces through her pupils with the ruthlessness of a miséricorde strike.

The pain must be pretty similar, too, she imagines.

She groans out loud and tries to bury herself into the blankets. Permanently, with a pillow for a tombstone. Hey, who wouldn’t want a fluffy tombstone? So much nicer than cold, hard, heavy granite or marble.

So what if she gravitates towards gallows humour today? Agony does that to a person, you know.

As Jupiter tries to draw more blankets over her head to give herself a more proper inhumation, her blindly groping hand smacks into a warm, pliant body, lying on the spare half of her frustratingly spacious bed.

_Could that be?.._

The first name that springs to her mind makes her blood run cold in panic, all pain and nausea forgotten. She vaguely recalls feeling very _self-indulgent_ last night. No, please gods, don’t let her drunk and horny royal self have taken advantage of anyone – especially not Caine – _no, no, no, no!.._

Hmm, a boob.

That’s… reassuring.

Surprising, yes, but reassuring. That means that isn’t Caine for sure.

Unless Caine somehow managed to sprout hooters overnight.

No, there’s far more bizarre Dalí-esque surrealism to that mental image than her hangover brain can take.

And far more hotness.

Ugh.

Jupiter continues her blind exploration of the person her traitorous mattress seems to have given birth to at some point during last night. She’s still not ready to dare open her eyes for the second time. The initial excruciating experience is way too recent.

“Quit groping me, you sicko. I do not swing that way!”

“Kiza?! What are you doing in my bed?” Jupiter surges up only to realize it was a bad idea: her vision swims and migraine explodes in her head. She gingerly lowers herself back onto the pillows, simultaneously overwhelmingly grateful to Kiza for not being Caine and bitterly resentful for the same reason. Seems like the utter absence of logic is another side-effect of last night’s over-indulgence. “And since when do you not swing that way?” the queen grumbles. “You swing every way, pretty much.”

“I don’t swing Jupiter’s way, just like I don’t swing my Dad’s. Because it’s gross! You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you, I’m deeply touched by your affection. So, since we apparently didn’t have sex last night, what are you doing in my bed, again?”

“I had to see the fruits of last night’s labours of mine. I got you mighty hammered, so I had to make sure you’ve survived. I’d never thought I would live to see you unwind enough to be queenhandling poor Caine in public.”

“To see me doing _what?!_ ” Jupiter chokes. She does remember their outing – well, some parts of it – but she certainly does not remember _queenhandling_ anyone.

“Taking liberties with your forbearing and all-enduring guard.”

“I don’t believe you,” the queen exhales, stubbornly clinging to the hope that this is one of Kiza’s pranks, yet having a strong, sickening suspicion that it isn't.

“I have proof,” Kiza demurs mercilessly, “I took pictures.” The menace is already grabbing her phone from the nearby nightstand, eager to share the photographic evidence with the entranced and mortified audience.

Her phone, of course, isn’t really a phone. It’s a much more advanced communication device disguised as a terrsie cell, so as not to raise any questions whenever they visit Earth.

“See?” the girl shoves the screen under Jupiter’s miserable nose.

 All parts of Jupiter are miserable this morning, all right? She manfully forces her (miserable) eyes to focus on the picture. It’s not an easy feat.

Caine is holding her – no, _carrying_ her – and her arms are twined around his neck in what looks less of a supporting hold and more of a passionate embrace. There’s a dopey, obliviously happy grin plastered all over her drunken mug. It’s easy to tell just by looking at the picture just how out of it she is.

This is horrible.

This would be _devastatingly_ horrible, if –

If she didn’t see the same silly smile mirrored on Caine’s face.

Caine looks –

Well, he doesn’t look _unhappy_. That is something.

“I need this,” Jupiter tells her friend abruptly. To torture myself with, she adds mentally, because she is a masochist. Clearly.

“If you think I’m giving up such a stellar blackmail material, think again.”

“Just send me a copy,” Jupiter agrees absently, unable to look away from Caine’s smile.

“Do you believe me now, oh Mighty Majesty?” Kiza inquires haughtily.

“I’ve always believed you,” the queen shakes her head, resigned. Great, the day has come when she has to apologize for actual sexual harassment. Oh, how the mightiest has fallen. Please, kill her now. “I just hoped…  I hoped that it was just a figment of my imagination,” she laments, revolted with herself.

“Wet dream, you mean?”

“You’re cruel. Go away.”

“No, I’m just brutally honest. With the emphasis on “brutally”. How much of last night do you remember, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Glimpses? And I’m not really sure if they’re true.”

“Oh, let me enlighten you, then!” Kiza looks dishearteningly gleeful at the idea of refreshing Jupiter’s memory. The queen braces herself: that particular brand of her friend’s enthusiasm never bodes well.

“First off, you flat out offered Caine ravish you. Right there, at the bar.”

“No!”

“Yep. True story. I don’t even need to make anything up. Last night was the stuff legends are made of. Or at least the future family lore you’ll get to tell your grandchildren. So I made sure to commit it to my memory the best I could. You know, for posterity. “That was the night when Grandma first molested Grandpa, but he resisted, because you don’t put out on the first date, kids.”

“Ugh, Kiza, you’re the worst,” Jupiter whimpers. “No, I’m the worst. I can’t believe I queenhandled Caine.”

“Cut out the whining, I’m pretty sure Caine was relieved that you finally took matters into your own hands.”

“Oh, gods, no! Tell me I didn’t take _matters_ into my hands!” Jupiter gasps in abject horror, glaring at her palms accusingly as if they have betrayed her.

“Not that sort of matters; you were having fun strictly above the waist,” Kiza assures her, then, a beat later, adds ruthlessly, “Although I’m pretty sure that was because he was carrying you and you couldn’t physically reach any lower.”

Jupiter can’t even find it in her to protest: that sounds uncannily probable. Considering how strongly she feels about Caine, with her inhibitions loosened up by alcohol, her hands would have wandered anywhere they could possibly reach.

 _And he would’ve never dared to stop her_ , comes a distressing thought.

 “Do you remember the part when you all but _commanded_ Caine to sprout a hard-on?” Kiza continues. “You were insistent, too.”

“What?! I wouldn’t –”

Because she _wouldn’t_. No matter how drunk she was, she wouldn’t have done something like that.

Not intentionally, at least.

“Wait, that’s not the best part yet. The best part’s that he was going to _obey_.”

“Wha– _How?!!_ I’m pretty sure that one can’t grow an erection though sheer willpower.” Though, knowing Caine, he probably _could_.

“Who’s talking about sheer willpower? He had your ass pressed nicely where he needed it to be. You know, for inspiration.”

“Don’t tell me I attempted to _inspire_ him,” Jupiter wails, burying her burning face into the pillow – to better smother herself with.

“No, not with your ass, at least. Your ass was on its best behaviour last night, it was a very well-mannered little rear. Your fingers, however, were fondling Caine’s _whatever_ in a very _inspirational_ fashion.”

“Ugh, I am an awful person,” Jupiter groans.

“Well, you didn’t try to jump his bones outright,” Kiza offers in lieu of consolation.

“I’m not sure one _can_ jump his _bones_ ,” Jupiter mutters, “considering he’s covered in muscle _everywhere_.”

“You know that “bones” is just a euphemism, right?” Kiza clarifies.

“I’d bet he’s covered in muscle there, too,” Jupiter moans, hiding her face in the pillow that insidiously failed to smother her.

“Eww, gross. As much as I love Caine, I do not appreciate that mental visual.”

“Your loss.”

“So, are you going to objectify him now, on top of molesting him yesterday? Bad queen, bad!”

“Gods, I’m a monster!” the bad queen keens in self-condemnation.

“No, you’d be a monster if he wasn’t into you. Then I would have personally kicked your ass last night. I will defend his honour if I have to,” Kiza threatens.

“Why are you so sure he’s into me?” Jupiter perks up, disregarding her friend’s threat: the queen is all for defending her guard’s honour, even from herself. _Especially_ from herself. “Did he say anything to you?”

Considering Caine and Kiza have been bosom buddies ever since the girl was a toddler, he might have shared something with her.

“Like he would do something like that! That guy is a rock; each time I accost him with questions about you, he gives me this soft reproving look and says, “You know I cannot be gossiping about Her Majesty, Kiza.” I feel like a chastised kid afterwards, and he’s not even my father!”

“And here we are, gossiping about him! We _both_ are monsters!”

“Well, you may think whatever you like, but I refuse to be guilt-tripped about something as fun as gossip. I like gossiping and so do you. I dare you to tell me you’re not enjoying talking Caine to me!”

“I’d be enjoying talking Caine even to a tree trunk, to be honest,” the queen confesses. There is no point in lying to herself.

“Why don’t you take it a step further and talk Caine to actual Caine? I know he’s not much of a conversationalist, but he’ll be better than a tree trunk, I promise. Communication is a crucial part of a relationship. Besides, I’m sure he will appreciate your dreamy gushing about him,” Kiza winks at Jupiter.

The queen whacks her friend with a pillow in retaliation. It does not have the desired effect though, leaving the menace giggling instead of repentant.

“Kiza!” As it turns out, judgmental glaring is freaking painful when one is this hangover.

“I’m telling you, the guy likes you.”

“You’ve just admitted yourself, you don’t know that. You _cannot_ know that because he didn’t tell you! He might be just a really friendly, outgoing guy,” Jupiter mumbles.

Kiza snorts, “Caine? Friendly? Outgoing? Har, har, har.”

“Well, he’s always been nice to me,” Jupiter points out.

“Indeed he has,” Kiza drawls, waggling her eyebrows in a preposterous innuendo. “Do you have any idea how out of character that is for him? That man can glower a rock into submission. He’s doing it for fun in his spare time, I’m sure,” she snorts. “I’m only friends with him because he had to stick around when I was a kid. And when I was a kid, even my Dad couldn’t glower me into submission, let alone Caine: I was a force of nature. So I force-of-natured my kiddy friendship on the poor lycantant with funny fluffy ears. I remember considering him my very own personal teddy bear. The walking, talking teddy bear I could climb up and down like a tree. It was fun,” Kiza’s voice grows tender with nostalgia and affection. “You know, he used to carry me on his shoulders when I was little,” she smiles fondly. “Then gave me piggyback rides when I grew up a bit. I hardly think the grown-ass man actually enjoyed indulging the clingy brat,” the girl adds self-deprecatingly. “Caine took – still takes – my company stoically, as he takes all misfortunes the fate throws his way.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Jupiter finds herself protesting. “Cain loves you.”

“How do you know?” Kiza asks shrewdly. “ _Did he tell you?”_

“No, of course not, I just see the way he is around you.”

“Exactly!” the girl exclaims triumphantly. “And I see the way he is around you. The mere fact that he allowed you to grope his ears last night,” – Jupiter groans loudly at the reminder, but Kiza perseveres, – “is saying a lot. Ears are a vulnerable part of any living creature, since they can be easily torn and hurt. Lycantants instinctively tend to jerk them out of reach. Hell, he let you touch his _throat_. It doesn’t get more vulnerable than that.”

“It’s not like he could slap Queen’s hands off,” Jupiter mutters, morose.

“If he had hinted at any discomfort he might have been experiencing with as much as a glance to me, I would have slapped them off for him. Gladly,” Kiza says fiercely, protectively. “But he didn’t. He didn’t flinch or try to pull back. He trusts you.”

“Trusting me is a far cry from “Would you jump my boner?”

“Can you really picture him ever asking Queen that question? He’s a splice, you’re a royal. It would be a severe insult if he offered you anything remotely sexual. You’d be a fool to wait for that. He will never allow himself to be that disrespectful.”

“You’re a splice, too. And you’re being plenty disrespectful _all the time_ ,” Jupiter counters, feeling vague chagrin settle in her chest. Of course it will be _her_ responsibility to initiate something when she feels hopelessly hamstrung by the inequality of their positions. Of course. Then she realizes what she’s just said to Kiza and what way it could be taken. She rushes to clarify, “Not that I don’t appreciate that, your treating me as an equal.”

“It took me a while to learn to do that – be friends with you, feel equal. And I didn’t have military subordination drilled into the marrow of my bones as Caine had,” Kiza responds, her voice pensive and melancholic.

“That is exactly why I can’t come up to him and say, “Hey, buddy, I have hots for you. Wanna fuck?” He’ll take it as an order.”

“At least let me tell Caine about how you feel about him.”

“No, Kiza, don’t,” Jupiter shakes her head vehemently, instantly regretting it: it feels like her brain is sloshing inside her skull. “He still might think that he has to _do something about it_. It’s not fun to be fucked out of duty and dedication.”

“What, he will lay back and think of England?” Kiza rolls her eyes at her. “Please, don’t give me this shit,” she waves her hand dismissively. “No guy in the history of ever has viewed sex as a chore to suffer through.”

“Well, Caine probably doesn’t know what England is, since he didn’t live on Earth like you and I used to, so he won’t be thinking that,” the queen replies hedgingly. “However, he might think that I’m the only thing standing between him and being sent back to the hell of Deadlands, that I provide a home and a job for him, that I – officially – own his contract.” _Own him_ , Jupiter cringes internally at the thought. She feels their conversation has gotten way to serious for her hangover brain, yet she has to make Kiza see how important it is to keep her mouth shut on this particular topic. Her friend aces at keeping secrets, but she occasionally feels tempted to push too far while meddling in Queen’s love life – or lack thereof. “He might think that he _owes_ me something. And this – whatever this is, or will or will not be – should not be about owing, it should be about wanting.”

“Girl, you’re so afraid of being too forward you’re being backwards,” Kiza scoffs.

“Maybe,” Jupiter admits, “but it’s my decision to make, so please, keep quiet about this.”

The girl lets out an exasperated huff. “I work so hard to get you two together, creating situations where you can stop being all stuck-up and proper and just _communicate_ with each other, and each time you pour the chances I provide for you down the drain,” Kiza laments. “I should just give up and let you blue-ball each other for the rest of your lives.”

For a moment, Jupiter feels truly, deeply, bone-chillingly scared. Because the idea is genuinely horrifying. With her _sublime_ flirting skills, the queen will probably blurt something like “I love dogs, I’ve always loved dogs” into Caine’s face and _that will be it_. He will be forever convinced that she sees him as nothing more than an animal and she will die of shame.

And blue balls.

That’s a Shakespeare-worthy tale, right there.

At least Romeo and Juliet managed to get laid before they died. Died out of sheer stupidity, just like she will.

She’s hoping, though, that Caine will have a nice life after her untimely demise due to utter mortification and sexual frustration.

“Are you done being a drama queen, Mighty Majesty?” Kiza inquires, sarcastic.

It seems like Jupiter has been contemplating her very tragic Shakespearean fate out loud.

“You wouldn’t do it to us, would you?” Jupiter implores weakly. “Because, you know, I do want to get together with Caine. Eventually. Pining is all good and well, but having your sex life reduced to your own hands and vibrators isn’t exactly fun. You ought to help us, just – be a bit more subtle about it, would you?”

“Sometimes I think that you befriended me just so I would assist you in getting your grabby hands on my big buddy. I feel so used,” the girl complains.

“That’s so not true!” the queen protests. “If you should know, I’m in this to get my grabby hands on your boobs. As you could see just a few minutes earlier, I’ve already started groping them.”

“I knew it!” Kiza giggles. “My girls are irresistible. Now, lose the angst, make yourself presentable, then go and grovel.  If you apologize, I’m sure Caine will forgive you. Actually, he would probably forgive you more enthusiastically if you had done something more R-rated to apologize for.”

“Give me that phone of yours again,” Jupiter demands.

“What for?” the girl asks suspiciously.

“I need to master up the courage to face Caine. Show me my motivation.”

“This is the last time I’m enabling you and your sick addiction,” Kiza chuckles as she opens up the picture she took last night on the screen.

With breathless reverence, Jupiter lets herself to fully take in Caine’s countenance.

When she sees him looking at her like that, with this unguarded and affectionate expression that seems surreally foreign compared to his usual impassionate, stoic mask Queen is used to seeing , Jupiter feels something stir within her chest, the feeble _hope_ fledging and taking wing as a tentative yet daring _belief_.

Belief, however, is a dangerous thing. Belief makes people assume things, accept something to be true without any actual proof. If she allows herself to make the assumption that Caine is actually into her and act on it, she’s more than sure he will never dare to contradict her – splices are conditioned their whole life to never resist the Entitled’s will, to be obedient and _serve_. It’s beaten into their heads – quite often literally – with a frustrating efficiency. How will she know if her assumption is wrong, if he never tells her? How will she know she’s not _coercing_ him?

So far, she does not know the answer. And as long as she does not know _for sure_ , she falls back on the default option that they are just what they appear to be: Queen and her bodyguard, an employer and an employee. _A mistress and a slave_ , if she is brave enough to perceive the situation as it is, with the callous clarity of realism, but her mind rebels at such wording even within the safe recesses of her own head.

The nearly limitless power she has over so many sentient beings – Caine included – is fucking terrifying, because it drags _responsibility_ in tow. Caine’s life is just one out of innumerable others, his fate is but one single grain of sand, the sand that fills Queen’s trembling hands, so easy to slip through her clutching fingers. It up to her to ensure he doesn’t end up lost or mangled or ruined – or preferably, even slightly hurt. For as long as she’s known him, he’s been doing right by her – unfailingly, persistently; she _will_ do right by him.

As she stares at his sappy grin in the photo, she realizes the he never lets himself beam at her like this when she is fully _there_ , not just point sixty three consciousness left in her muddled brain. To push for more before he feels comfortable enough to at least _smile_ when she’s around would be a mistake.

She won’t allow herself any leeway for error, not in this case, not with Caine.

Jupiter smiles fondly at the screen, her resolve strengthening, and hands the phone back to Kiza.

Then she puts her big queen pants on and goes to face the music.

 

In contrast to his usual calm and confident demeanour, Caine appears to be distinctly ill at ease today, uncomfortable in his own skin, refusing to meet Jupiter’s gaze and casting furtive glances at Kiza as if seeking his friend’s support.

Jupiter’s heart sinks.

_She did this._

Shit.

“Caine,” she croaks through her dried-up throat and shuts up promptly, feeling immediately embarrassed by the amphibian apparently stuck in there. Where is her supposedly inborn majestic grace when she truly needs it? Where is the august dignity? Why can’t she say what she has come here to say? Just spit it out already!

If anything, Caine looks even more unsettled now.

She is upsetting him. _Keeps_ upsetting him.

Fuck dignity. Fuck grace. She goes for sincerity, whatever it might cost her.

“Caine, I don’t recall much of the last night…” This feels like plunging into icy water. Her breathing catches, her fingers go cold and clammy so she starts absently wringing her hands together to warm them up. “…but the little I recall tells me I owe you an apology. A huge one.” The vague snippets she does remember – along with Kiza’s sordid tale – make her cringe. “Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry,” she tells him, earnest and remorseful, seeking to meet his eyes to convey she truly means what she is saying.

There is a beat of silence, then –

“I have no idea what Your Majesty’s talking about,” Caine’s face is carefully blank as usual as he lifts his eyes to hers, but his voice is warm and soothing. The slightest waver she hears in it must be a fabrication of her hangover brain. “I have no recollection of Your Majesty doing anything that would warrant an apology.”

“But… I remember… Kiza said…” Jupiter sputters, gesturing at the witness of her drunken degradation.

Caine gives their mutual friend a long, hard, pregnant look.

“There is a little-known fact about lycantants,” he starts in a neutral, serene tone that can be heard narrating wildlife documentaries, apparently having regained his characteristic confidence, “we seem to develop short-term amnesia in the presence of royals that are, um…”

“Drunk off their asses,” Kiza supplies helpfully.

“ _Under influence_ ,” Caine corrects with emphasis.

This time, the queen recognizes the easy out that’s being handed to her.

“Thanks, Caine” is all Jupiter can utter.

“No problem.”

And just like that, the matter is settled.

“Are you two kidding me?!” Kiza explodes, throwing her hands up as if the proceedings personally offend her. “You can’t let her off the hook that easily! For gods’ sake, would you two communicate already?! I want a spectacle, damn it!!!” She stamps her foot down for good measure.

“You got one yesterday,” Caine cuts off, his tone adamant and final. At Jupiter’s quiet doleful meep he hastily corrects himself, “Not that I remember any of it.”

Who knew that obliviousness and forgetfulness are two qualities most precious in a guard?

“I swear that I won’t drink anymore,” the queen promises solemnly. Then remembers how insistent Kiza can be and tacks on, “Not with you around, anyway.”

“That would be a pity, Your Majesty,” Caine comments softly.

All of the sudden, Jupiter has trouble breathing.

“You think so?” she rasps, her throat dry for another reason altogether.

“Absolutely.”

His expression of dutiful stoicism does not waver, his mouth remains impassive, yet there are crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes.

His eyes are _smiling_.

The pesky belief flutters its wings in Jupiter’s chest again.

Kiza cackles.

Because that’s just what kizas do: they cackle at the best moments of your life, ruining the mood.

“What?” the menace asks at Caine and Jupiter’s collective glare. “You don’t actually expect me _not_ to be there next time you get wasted, do you? You two are _entertaining_. And I’ve got my big buddy’s virtue to protect.”

At that, the guard’s ears flare crimson as he drops his gaze to the floor.

Jupiter sighs. She is so happy right now she does not feel like killing Kiza.

She’ll do it later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Iluvdanimal** , I hope there’s enough of sassy Kiza for you to enjoy here._
> 
> _Sorry, I laid this out much heavier than initially intended, all thanks to **TheLadyRo** , who talks of responsibility, of the importance of communication in a relationship and raises profound ethical questions. Thank you for making my silly story a touch deeper and being mighty helpful in general. And do write a JA fic of your own, pretty please? I, for one, will be happy to read it._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You did what?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13999278) by [TheLadyRo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyRo/pseuds/TheLadyRo)




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